Someone once told me that those who would see wonderful things must often be ready to travel alone.

So one day I did.

And I saw that I wasn't alone at all. I began to understand why.

Some traveled to escape. Jobs, lost loves, expectations, boredom.

Some left out of curiosity. A suspicion that there's more to life, that "adventure is out there!"

They call it Wanderlust: That itch in your feet, hole in your soul, fire in your heart, that burns hotter the longer you sit still.

Most set off in search of something. The next thrill. The next Facebook post. The next romance.

A higher mountain to climb. A bluer ocean to dive. A wilder story to tell.

Many were just trying to find themselves. Some best version of themselves lost amidst the daily crush of normal life and its never-ending somedays, but waiting to be discovered in some hidden paradise, or concealed in the well-trod dust of some ancient ruin.

Maybe to travel alone is to hopethat you can emerge transformed when baptized in the unfamiliar, the unexpected, and the unbelievable.

But then you learn... that you can buy a ticket to the farthest corners of the world yet never run away from what's inside you.

No matter where you go, a change of heart comes slow.

In the daily confrontation of your limits and delusions.

In the everyday erosion of what you thought you knew,

In surprising yourself in the strangest situations.

Maybe the gift of traveling alone, is in discovering -

in breathless encounters with the world's greatest wonders,

in this constant cycle of self-doubt and exhilaration,

in all the joy, the heartache, and everything in between,

in the everyday amazement of meeting kind souls and kindred spirits in places you never imagined,

in learning to be present in every moment despite the coming goodbyes,